'Oku 'osi 'a e Ta'u e Taha. 'E Toe 'a e Ta'u e Taha. (One Year Down. One More to Go)

In a year and a half I have…

1.     Learned how to eat the bones and heads of fish clean, and to chew on and suck the marrow free from the bones of the staple animal parts that appear at every meal;

2.     Eaten dog, horse, got brains, pig ears and feet (as well as almost every other part), sea urchin, sea cucumber, a number of other sea creatures I don’t know the names of, and even sea turtle;

3.     Been a tou’a, serving kava at men’s kava circles (faikava) and clubs (kalapu)  in between intermittent renditions of love songs played by callused, hard-worked hands strumming easily on wooden ukuleles and guitars while accompanied by a range of voices from deep, throaty baritones to smooth sopranos until all hours of the morning;

4.     Been persistently courted by Tongan men with fresh pineapples, watermelons and coconuts;

5.     Eaten raw fish straight from the sea, marinated only in the fresh, clear salt water of Ha’apai;

6.     Drank kava, soaked in natural hot springs, roamed up and down the rows of fish, produce and handicrafts at markets, swung from a rope into freshwater pools, and walked along abandoned train tracks through fields of sugar cane in Fiji;

7.     Been body-slammed (and still left last woman standing) by sturdy Tongan women twice my weight during evening games of the island-wide summer papolo league;

8.     Lived primarily off of the rainwater collected in concrete water tanks during the seasonal rains;

9.     Fought a daily battle against armies of ants that come in at least 27 different breeds and find their way into everything I own (sealed jars of peanut butter, bags of sugar, etc.), nests of cockroaches, ever-present flies, demonic, overgrown centipedes sneaking in through cracks in the floors and walls, rats living in the cupboards beneath my sink, seemingly drunken, suicide-prone crickets, spiders the size of my palm hanging out in ceiling corners, termites eating away at my chair and doors, stinkbugs creeping along my shelves, and months of persistent lice;

10. Taught English, computer skills, and fitness and nutrition to students at the primary and secondary levels;

11. Learned a traditional Tongan dance (tau’olunga) in one day and performed it in front of a crowd of people at the opening ceremony of a completed Tonga Water Board project;

12. Camped in caves by the sea, using palm fronds as a mat to sleep on;

13. Watched boys climb coconut trees, toss down heavy green coconuts from 35 feet up in the air, shimmy down and use a bush knife to crack them open for me to drink the slightly fizzy, freshly sweet water inside;

14.  Helped to start a monthly girls’ hiking club aimed to encourage young girls to explore our island and to lead nutritionally healthy and active lifestyles;

15. Translated a series of children’s stories from Tongan to English to expand English literacy materials in primary school classrooms;

16. Biked for miles along still-dark bush roads to see wild horses roaming the cliffs at the Southern tip of our island at sunrise;

17. Been chased and circled—and bitten only once—by dogs both on foot and while riding my bike;

18. Walked with the neighborhood kids during rainy downpours along the pot-hole strewn, dirt and gravel main road of our island splashing and jumping in murky puddles the size of small lakes;

19. Been chased through the bush and stung up and down my legs and booty by a swarm of bees;

20. Skinny dipped on isolated beaches at all times of the day: sunrise, midday and after dark;

21. Learned how Tongans use every part of a coconut and tree for cooking, gardening, making handicrafts etc.;

22. Gotten lost and found in the bush;

23. Had boils in inconvenient places;

24. Bathed with cold water out of a bucket;

25. Used a handheld fan woven from coconut palm fibers as my personal, and only, air-regulation system;

26. Raised a baby pig that was rescued by my neighbors from some dogs;

27. Started weaving a traditional Tongan ta’ovala;

28. Worked on building libraries at both my primary and secondary schools;

29. Learned to speak Tongan (not yet fluently);

30. Learned to basic Tongan braid (Tongans do it better than the French);

31. Scraped out a coconut to make a kava cup;

32. Learned how to make traditional Tongan foods in the underground oven (‘umu) such as lu and vai lesi;

33. Watched animals be slaughtered and roasted over fires or baked in underground ovens;

34. Read Tongan hymns at church on Sundays;

35. Slept on bathroom floors during bouts of food poisoning;

36. Gone swimming with whales;

37. Snuck out to the local warehouse turned nightclub in ‘Eua (falehulohula) to boogy the night away with Tongans ranging in age from infant to 92;

38. Lived without a refrigerator or oven;

39. Reunited with friends from high school and college, and slept in a rented camper van on a beach in Maui after toasting tequila shots to a lifetime of travel and reunions;

40. Spent one day learning to surf and one day nearly drowning in the surf in Oahu;

41. Struggled through 26.2 miles of the Maui Marathon alongside my brother and sister;

42. Drank red wine at an opera, and cruised on a boat in the Sydney Harbour;

43. Gone canyoning in the icy water running from the mountains, bungy jumped off a 43-meter high bridge to be dunked up to my hips in the river below, hiked for three miles along rough and scenic terrain of the Routeburn Track in Queenstown, New Zealand;

44. Watched seals basking on rocks in the sun while sailing and kayaking in the tea-stained water of Doubtful Sound in the Fjordland National Park of New Zealand’s south island;

45. Woken up to minor earthquakes shaking the foundation of my home, and cyclone (Winston) force winds blowing rain through the cracks in my windows to partially flood my home…

Here is the link to a video I’ve compiled that will give just a glimpse into what life in Tonga has been like over the past year and a half:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3Qa27iL3ms

Cheers to another year of adventure.

"Kataki Kole Mai..." ("Please, can I borrow...")

Standing at the kitchen counter as I boiled some water for a pot of tea, I looked at all of my neighbors’ children—on average about a dozen or so at any given time—playing in my home: a trio flopped on the couch using my laptop to watch Mulan for the fifth time that week; two girls, class one and two, sat on the floor divvying out my deck of Frozen-themed UNO playing cards, enraptured by the beautiful princesses, cheerful snowman and goofy reindeer pictured on the different sets of numbers; Sela, the wildest of the bunch, had scooped my jump rope from the shelf and was testing it out just inside the doorway; Mosikaka, a little bit older, somewhat more reserved, and much more dutiful, sat at my table helping herself to my school supplies to meticulously paste a worksheet with her assigned reading and comprehension questions from that day’s lesson into her English notebook; the light from my porch framed Sefita’s silhouette where he stood indiscriminately strumming my ukulele while watching his brother, Sione, ride up the path on my bicycle.

“Te u kole ‘eni he taimi te ke foki ki ‘Amelika,” Seifta said, turning to me, a smile splitting his face. “I get this when you go back to America.”

My things are not my own, I thought, shaking my head as I took in the frenzied scene around me. How did that happen?

I take it as a sign of where I’ve gotten in terms of my integration into my community. I have found that in Tonga, the more integrated you are—the more a part of the community, the better the relationships you have with the people living around you—the less you tend to draw boundaries between what is yours and what is theirs.

That goes for just about everything you once thought was yours alone, whether that be material possessions, your talents, your time or even your personal space and privacy.

According to the Tongan Dictionary the Tongan word “kole” means “to make a request, to ask (for)…or to borrow.”

We do that back home, right? People ask for things, people make requests, people borrow things…

…sometimes, right?

A year living in Tonga has taught me that kole is not so much a simple verb, as its definition would suggest, as it is a very intricate and, at times, confusing way of life.

In some cases, it can be a bad thing. Like anywhere in the world, people can cross a line. They can ask for too much. They can ask far too often.

But, in so many ways, it is a good thing. It’s a way of sharing your life with your neighbors; of learning to be comfortable depending on each other; of openly giving and receiving help. It reminds you maybe of why and how communities developed in the first place.

Everything that is theirs becomes yours and everything that was just yours becomes, at least partially, theirs.

I asked some of the volunteers and staff from Peace Corps Tonga to define what kole means to them, to share some of their best stories about how it has affected them in their communities, and to explain their opinions on the kole culture in Tonga. Their responses are compiled in the following video:

"Kole" Culture: Kingdom of Tonga

Find Your Happy Place (Ma'u Ho’o Feitu’u Fiefia)

        
    Squashed between two people in the middle seat of my row for the duration of the 12-hour international flight my thoughts flitted from considerations of dropping out of the Peace Corps before my service even began to launch a campaign for Equal-Opportunity Leg-Room and Armrests For All, to lamenting the next 27 months I would go without digging into a burrito bowl from Chipotle or hitting Don’s at 4 a.m. to be first in line for their breakfast special, to replaying all of the goodbye scenes I’d had with friends and family from the past couple of weeks, and as far back as several months, over and over again in my head:

            Clinging to each friend as one by one they left Miami to go home for the summer, or on to grad school or new jobs in different cities.

            Sobbing drunkenly on the hood of a car as one of my best friends wall-twerked on me before she started her drive home in the morning.

            Sitting at the kitchen table in my empty house, face in my hands, as I listened to my goodbye card read aloud.

            Zigzagging up the East Coast in my car, making stops to visit with people along the way.

            A quick embrace and a forcedly casual “see you later” in the Las Vegas airport.

            Awkward conversation, shifting feet, and unwelcome tears before reluctantly leaving to finish the final leg of the out-west road trip, alone.

            The strained, tense look on my dad’s face as I climbed out of the car.

            The Last Breakfast—a stack of pumpkin pancakes, topped off with a side of what might be the world’s best bacon—that led up to what might have been the world’s most epic group hug on the sidewalk outside.

           

            When Lent came around this year, six months into my service, I tried to stop thinking of things in terms of what have I given up, and consciously started thinking of things in terms of look what I have gained.

            It was my goal not to obsess over the things I was missing, but to savor the little things that make life in Tonga a little sweeter. For forty days, I focused on finding my happy place:

Day #1: The Bountiful Bucket Bath

            It finally rained. A drenching rain. A rain that left the newly plowed fields marshy, and filled my sima vai enough to supply a steady stream of water, not the trickle that my neighbors and I had relied on for weeks of drought to fill buckets for all of our basic hygienic and household needs.

            I splurged.

            The water was still cool from the fresh rain, not yet warmed by the sun. I abandoned my usual careful conservation of the water, and instead of using as few mugs-full as possible to wash and rinse my body, I poured the bucket over my head; slowly, relishing in the way it washed over my face and through my hair, cooling my skin as it ran in rivulets to the floor.

Day #2: The Mint Chocolate Chip Meet-Up

            “The market has mint chocolate chip ice cream,” Bailey urgently texted us one day.

            We all made our way from our villages, biking, suto-ing or walking the miles into town to meet up together at the ‘Ohonua market, order double-scoops and sit on the wooden benches happily licking the bright green ice cream from our cones practically without a word.

            We finished, then we each hopped on our bikes and headed in different directions to begin the trek home.

Day #3: Morning Sun Runs

            Men walk past me, tools in hand, hats on their heads, off to the bush to start the day’s work before the sun gets too hot. The animals have started to wake up, roosters crow, and pigs heavily lift themselves onto their feet to begin rooting around in the bushes and establishing their command of the road.

            I run past them all just as the first rays of the sunrise begin to glow on the undersides of the clouds.

Day#4: Tau Lova?

            Riding my bike on the main road, I came up alongside a couple of my students also on bikes. I looked sideways at ‘Eliesa and said, “tau lova? Wanna race?”

            He flashed a smile and I took off pedaling as fast as I could, dodging potholes and sending the pigs squealing off down dirt paths or into the bushes. ‘Eliesa and Sepasitiano pedaled after me, shouting as they fought to catch up. I reached the gate to our school first, fist raised to the sky in triumph.

Day #5: Where There’re Church Bells, There’re Tongans

            ‘Ana calls out to me from her front porch as I walk by on my way to church.

            “Tali mai!” she says, “wait for me!”

Ana and Tevita posing outside of Kina's house.

            She disappears for a moment inside then comes back out, stepping into a pair of cheap children’s leopard print wedges. She looks up at me, beams, slips her hand into mine and then we continue hand-in-hand to the Free Wesleyan church in our village for the mid-morning service.

Day #6: Kai ‘Umu

            We all lay about Tina’s living room, lounging on mats on the floor or on couch cushions, waiting for the ‘umu to be done. Tina and Siale tell me about their business selling handicrafts and sandalwood abroad. She proudly shows me pictures of intricately made kiekie and decorative ta’ovala that are popular among different Tongan families she knows living in Hawaii and New Zealand.

The girls making the haka at Tina's while we wait to eat.

            When the food is ready, the kids sit together around the kitchen table, dishing out chunks of kape and foil-wrapped servings of lu.

            “Tau kai leva,” they say. “Let’s eat.”

Day #7: Suto Ki Ai

            Hitch-hiking in The Friendly Islands, is just that: friendly. None of the negative or scary connotations apply. The rough-looking man with several missing or gold teeth hanging out the window offering you a ride and maybe even some pickings from a sleeve of cookies from the local falekoloa, is actually legit. He’s not trying to subdue your natural fight-or-flight instincts with the temptation of chocolaty delight, only to snatch you up as a victim of devious intent.

           

My view suto-ing in the back of a fish truck.

He genuinely thinks you could use a ride as far as he is going, and could go for some cookies while you’re at it. Because who could ever pass up an opportunity to kai lelei?

            Walking along the side of the dirt and gravel roads in ‘Eua you’re bound to get offered a ride, and chances are that even though you may not know them yet—“yet” being the key word—they most likely know you. If you’re a palangi fresh off the ‘Onemato, or a volunteer who’s lived here for months, news of your presence has most likely preceded you. And, like the horse that was born without a tail, you’ll probably be the talk of the town, at least until the next newsworthy incident comes around.

Day #8: Tau kalasi?!

            At the high school where I work, there is a schedule. Although that term is very loosely defined, there is still a general predictability as to when I will have class with my different level Form students. The schedule is posted on the wall in each of the classrooms too for them to refer to in case they do forget, which I can assure you does not happen.

            That doesn’t stop my students from asking me before every period, after every period, at every break in between every period, and sometimes even during periods, “tau kalasi?” Do we have class now?

            I don’t know why—because sometimes I honestly think they’d be better off without me here—but they really do seem excited to be in my class. They beg me for põ ako, night school. Maybe it’s because there’s not much else going on. Maybe it’s because they get to see their friends and not do chores around the house or work in the bush for a couple of hours during the day. Whatever it is, school seems like it’s their happy place.

Day #9: Toli Guava

            I followed last in line behind a troupe of my neighbors’ kids of various ages. We jumped the fence into the vao and they set off in different directions to collect a bunch of not-quite ripe guavas, because that’s the kind that doesn’t have worms.

One of the guavas from our trip to the woods.

            Their methods varied. The youngest inspected the fallen fruit on the ground and scooped up the good ones, using their shirts as makeshift sacks to carry them. The older ones wielded sticks and set about knocking them from the branches. The most agile jumped to grab the lowest hanging limbs and swung their bodies around to shimmy up the trunks, their bare feet finding invisible footholds to leverage their weight. What little I contributed was generously rewarded with handfuls of hard green fruits presented to me enthusiastically by several pairs of sticky brown fingers.

Day #10: Sibling Skype Session (Meeting of the Mindless)

            Conzy and Bub made the trip down to see Nikki in Virginia for their spring break. They made the time to Skype me in for an hour or two. It felt almost as if I was right there will them. Counting down the holiday breaks until I actually can be.

Day #11: Being Put to Work

            The night leading up to Sports Day at ‘Eua High School—the other secondary school on ‘Eua, and thus our rivals—the Hofangahau women stayed up the entire night making preparations for the next day’s events. In Tongan tradition, the most important thing was the food.

Linili and Mia repping Hofangahau at Sports Day.

They divvied up the responsibilities: we were to provide the breakfast and tea plates, and they would cover lunch.

            We baked cakes, chopped vegetables, flipped Tongan pancakes, spread butter on bread and squeezed kola until the early hours of the morning. As usual they peer-pressured me to taste-test everything, but they also actually let me help.

Day #12: ‘Oku Vale Aupito ‘Eku Lãlanga

            I had a crowd. The men and boys circled around, looking on as Luseane and Kina, occasionally less-than-patiently, oversaw my very deliberate technique for making my own ta’ovala. My progress was slow, and one or the other would often follow right behind me correcting my wobbly handiwork.

            They teased me and I good-naturedly lashed out at their jabs. Luseane and Kina just smiled and kept urging me on. I like to think there was something of pride somewhere in their amused expressions.

Kina and I during my first weaving lesson.

Day #13: The Golden Hour

            There’s that moment, an hour or so right before sunset, where the sun tinges everything gold.

            I sometimes ride my bike toward town at that time, on my way to Bailey’s. If I look to my right, there’s a break in the houses and abundant gardens, and I can see clearly to the mountains leading to the other side of the island. They’re glowing; burnished that same rich hue.

Day #14: Library Interrogation

            A chubby Tongan boy followed me around the library at Ha’atu’a G.P.S. as I worked on organizing books onto the newly constructed shelves. As I arranged books into reading levels, he bombarded me with an endless stream of questions, barely processing my answers before spitting out the next one.

            His line of questioning made me laugh in bursts, and then think a lot about how his life has already been so different from that of his cousins just from being raised overseas. He made several comments contrasting his school back home to the primary school here.

            “Where can I get water?” he asked. I pointed to the sima vai outside.

            “How do I drink from it?” I indicated his hands. He raised his eyebrows.

            “At my school in New Zealand we have water fountains,” he said as he grabbed an empty water bottle from the table and waddled over to the tank, squatting down to fill it up.

Day #15: Kaukau ‘Uha

            “KauKau ‘uha!” The little girls from next door screeched as they sprinted outside into pouring rain, “Rain shower!”

            I took off after them.

            We stood huddled under the torrent of water running off the roof, fully clothed, gasping at the chill. There was a stream forming in the slope of the road. We tuned our shoes into boats, fed them into the stream and chased after them in our bare feet, shouting “Vaka! Vaka!” We headed to the main road. The potholes made a maze of puddles down the street, which we ran and jumped in, splashing everyone within range.

Day #16: Tasting Tava

            I sat next to Kina on a mat on the ground outside my neighbor Luseane’s house, flies buzzing around our feet. Afu, Luseane’s husband, hoisted his four-year old son onto the tin roof of their outdoor kitchen to collect the tava fruit that Niutoni threw down from the tree above.

            Tevita shrieked with laughter as Niutoni chucked the fruit down at us. We peeled their green skin to reveal the whitish flesh inside—a similar look and taste to lychees from Hawaii—then dug out the seed from the center and popped the whole thing into our mouths.

Day #17: Craving Tongan Food

            I was craving lu one day in the middle of the week, a traditional Tongan dish usually reserved for Sundays. Just as it turned dark, Mia sent her kids over to bring me a plate of food for dinner: lu sipi.

Day #18: Fangatave Hike

          

Aisea and Sala teaching Bailey how to crack open a coconut at Fangatave.

  Hiking uphill, through the vao, the trail to Fangatave beach opens up onto a ridge overlooking the steep drop-off of the cliffs to the see. Cows graze in the open field, and we pick our way through the cowpies. We spot the tree that looks like a whale tail, turn right and slide through a small path in the rocks.  We scale another set of rocks and hit sand, bush-whacking our way to the isolated beach we’d spotted from the cliffs above.

Sammy climbing down the rocks on the way to Fangatave.

There’s a rope fastened there to scale a 20-foot section of rock down to the forest below. We continue hiking along what is now just a faint trail through the trees, covered in slippery leaves and dirt.

            Sweating from the hike, we toss our packs to the ground and run toward the water, diving in if the tide is high enough. The guys set about building a fire, while we settle into the sand and watch. The spread is chicken and hot dogs roasted expertly on an makeshift spit.

Aisea climbing a coconut tree at Fangatave.

            We start out on the beach, making our way to the caves when it starts to drizzle, rebuilding the fire under cover.

            In the morning, the fire is burning low, and the sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon. We sit side by side on the beach and watch as it rises directly in front of us, huge and burning bright yellow.

Bailey and Corinne by the caves at Fangatave.

Day #19: Sunset Runs

            Running down the main road at sunset, the sky painted vibrant oranges and pinks, I pass kids loitering at the falekoloa waiting for their mothers to finish their shopping and gossip. Men are coming back from the bush, walking or riding in truck beds. Students from my classes join me and I’ll challenge them to a race. They keep chase for 50 yards or so then stop, calling out to me “Samenta eyy!” as I keep on running, zigzagging between the potholes as I go. 

Day #20: Happy Long Life

            Ane invited me to her adopted son’s birthday party at their house one night. It was a small party, just a couple of the neighborhood kids, her and her husband and two of their close friends. She stood up to make a fakamãlõ speech to thank everyone for coming and to give her birthday wishes. During her speech she turned to me and told me that I was family now.

Day #21: Kaukautahi

            Two of the PCVs from Tongatapu came to ‘Eua one weekend to visit. We went to the beach one day for a cookout and some kaukautahi. There was a spot past the shallows, where the reef dropped off. We waded to the edge and leaped off the rocks into the deep blue, open water. For an hour we hung out there, drifting out from the reef further into the ocean, talking as we tread water and floated on the waves.

Day #22: Vai Siaine…Mãlõ Sisu

            There’s a dessert in Tonga that will absolutely be coming home with me. Fruit wrapped in foil—papaya or different kinds of bananas— then soaked in coconut milk, and baked in the ‘umu. I tasted it for the first time at Kina’s house one Sunday after church. We sat on their porch, and I ate serving after serving, way past the point of being full and completely disregarding the fact that I was doing damage to the roof of my mouth from swallowing the chunks of burning pata fresh out of the oven.

Day #23: ‘Aho ‘Uha

            We got a rain day at the G.P.S. once. No school because of the risk of the children getting sick and the water being contaminated. Heavy rainfall stirs up mud into the pipes, making the water run brown and unsafe to drink.

A group of the Ha'atu'a GPS Class 6 girls helping me with the library.

            I went to the school, plugged in my headphones and got to work building the school library. Some students who had come to school anyway joined me, even though they had the day off, and helped me to move stacks of organized books to their proper places on the shelves.

Day #24: Hulita’s Front Porch

            It was dark out, the lights were on and a dozen of us, kids and adults, were sprawled out on the mats on Hulita’s front porch. While they gossiped, I zoned-out, listening to the night sounds: pigs rooting around for scraps from their earlier meal; laughter coming from the street as people made their way home from the mãketi; dogs barking, the lingering smell of smoke from the day’s rubbish fires drifting along the wind, a pair of headlights breaking through the night as the rare car bumped along the main road.

Day #25: Niu Mata

            Ane and I sat on the stone fence by the school just talking as we sipped slowly from green coconuts, and shared a bag of Twisties.

Day #26: Comfort Food

            Bailey dipped the onions in batter and plopped them into the oil, quickly jerking back her hand to avoid the splash. When they were done frying, piled high on a family-sized serving dish, we sat in a circle on the mats. Sammy contributed another dish and I brought the sauces.

            One time for Nikki blessing our lives with ranch and barbeque sauce from home.

Day #27: Lakufa’anga

            Sammy and I got up before dawn to bike the seven or so miles to the cliffs at the southernmost end of the island, called Lakufa’anga. Grey streaks of light were just beginning to break through the darkness as we got there. Scattered across the field among the rocks and tough grasses, a herd of wild horses stood grazing. When we approached on our bikes they raised their heads in our direction, flicked their tails and trotted into a line facing us on the top of a small hill.

            Sammy and I hesitated, laughing that it looked like they were ready to charge at us, but also secretly wondering if maybe that was something that could actually happen in that moment, and what we would do if it was.

The wild horses grazing in the fields by the Lakufa'anga cliffs.

            After a minute or two, we kept on walking, keeping our distance and heading toward the edge of the cliff until they could understand that we meant no harm and went back to grazing. On our way back from the land bridge, in full light, they were still there. They looked at us curiously as we passed, no longer seeming to feel threatened, and we returned their gaze, struggling to tear ourselves away to make it home in time for school.

Day #28: Playing Hooky

            Several of the teachers at Hofangahau ditched school to go into town. We got take-away chicken and manioke from the stand at the market, and then went to picnic at the wharf. Mia treated us all to cans of orange pop, and I bought the four of us double-scoop ice cream cones.

Day #29: Snail Mail

            Letters sent before the New Year, arriving here in March. Doesn’t take away from the excitement and happy connection I feel to home.

Day #30: Põ Ako

            Even after seven hours at school during the day, plus the hours of yard work afterwards to maintain the school grounds and buildings, my Form 1 and 2 students come to night school early, and bursting with energy.

Day #31: Keeping the Sabbath

            I’ve come to appreciate Sundays in ‘Eua; their utter quiet and laziness. They used to make me restless. Now, I just lay in my hammock reading a book, or succumb willingly to the food coma after a traditional Tongan kai ‘umu.

            Eat, pray, sleep, and repeat.

Day #32: Tã Ki Ai

            I have this one boy in my Form 1 class who probably shouldn’t be there. He struggles. He doesn’t get it. His reading and writing levels in every subject are not where they should be. He most likely will not pass.

            But he comes to class, and Hulita—my counterpart—and I try to help him, sitting down and working with him one-on-one whenever we can. When he gets something right though, the way he looks up at either of us, that huge smile on his face, and then rushes to write the answer in wobbly and often backwards letters......

Day #33: Morning Boogey

            Choosing from my playlists and boogying around the house while brushing my teeth, washing my face and getting ready for the day.

Day #34: Oreo Heaven

            I found a single pack of strawberry cream-filed Oreos on the shelf of a falekoloa during one of my rare mid-week trips into town. I couldn’t pass them up.

            On my way home I met up with Mesieli, a boy from my village who I’d met during my second week in ‘Eua. Six months ago, him being as shy as he is, and with my Tongan where it was and his English where it is, we couldn’t really say a whole lot of anything to each other.

            But, as we walked together this time, we had a legitimate conversation in Tongan while happily sharing the slightly stale but still delicious pack of Oreos I’d just bought.

Day #35:  The Heke at Hafu

            Hiking club got rained out, but Sammy and I went anyway bringing two kids from her village. The pictures/video say it better than I can.

Day #36: Team Toli Indian Apples

            One of my students, Finau, and I went Indian apple picking. She pointed out the tree, two huge apples hanging from limbs out-of-reach. I picked up a rusted pole from the porch of the person’s whose yard we were in, and after whacking a bee’s nest that was in the way, set to knocking the fruits down.

            After trying several unsuccessful methods, I was able to maneuver the pole into a position where it pulled the branch toward me. I handed the pole over to Finau and then jumped to grab onto the branch. Finau dropped the pole and took hold of the branch from me. I jumped up again to grab the apples and tug them from the tree.

            We brought them into the church hall to eat, using our hands to rip off sticky chunks and pass them to the other girls around us. 

Day #37: Ha’apai is a State of Mind

            Bailey, Sammy and I spent our school break in the Ha’apai island group. We stayed with a Tongan family Sammy had met in her village in ‘Eua.

Sammy, Bailey and I with some fish from the wharf at Ha'apai.

We spent four days gorging ourselves on fish fresh from the ocean, walking along sandy beaches, and exploring town, catcalling all the beautiful Polynesian men we went out of our way to pass. Sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than twice.

Day #38: ‘Eua Girls Outdoor Club Takes on Hafu Pool

            For our debut hike for the club we’ve started in ‘Eua, we took the girls to a place called Hafu Pool. After hiking through the forest, we made it to the freshwater pool, where the 23 girls from our three villages swam and went exploring.

Bailey and Sammy with the girls from the hiking club playing some English games.

We provided a healthy lunch and played some English games, and then hiked back to the main road, where each group set off in a different direction back towards our respective villages.

            The girls ask us everyday when we’re going again.

Day #39: Winter Is Coming

            The weather has finally turned cool. Some nights with the wind blowing like it does, I go to sleep in sweats and wake up just warm enough, not drenched in sweat.

            It’s no longer too hot to stand. No more 24/7 sweaty gleam to my skin. No more sweat-stained clothes.  No more fanning myself to sleep or waking up having stripped down while I was out.

Day #40: Late Night Tutoring

            I sat on the floor in Kina’s house helping her daughter, Tepola, work on an essay for her Form 5 English class. Five of Tepola’s siblings sat around us, along with her parents and Luseane and Tevita, all watching and listening, and adding their own ideas to the mix whenever they’d think of something else to go along with the topic. Kina served hot coffee mixed with milk from a tin teapot, while Tafea helped me translate concepts between Tongan and English.

            I left their house around midnight, all eight of them curling up under blankets to sleep next to each other on the floor.

The isolated beach at Fangatave at sunrise.

'Aho Sipoti mo e Fiefia 2015 (Day of Sports and Happiness 2015)

Me and the Red Squad getting hyped for the days events. 

8:00 a.m. – Arrival

Students walk in scattered, yet strategic alliances toward the school. The youngest—Class 1, 2 and 3-ers—clutch their mothers’ hands under the protective shade of brightly colored umbrellas shielding them from the sun. The Class 4-6’s, having graduated from the need for parental supervision, gather with friends to make their way along the main road traversing the 200 yards of bush-land from their village to the school building.  

Girls with red ribbons braided into their hair walk in groups segregated from green-ribboned girls. Boys in red shorts and shirts roughhouse with each other in manly displays of superiority, serving to both intimidate and challenge their green-clad rivals.  

On any other day, the students might mingle, no barriers hindering their social interactions. 

But, today, lines have been drawn.

Today is Sports Day. The Red Scare vs. The Big Green.

Ain’t nobody messing with their cliques.

8:38 a.m. – Teuteu (Warm-Up/Preparations)

            Chaos ensues as impromptu contests of strength, speed and agility break out between both teams across the pothole-ridden schoolyard, strewn with piles of horse manure at semi-regular intervals.

The teachers look on, making no attempt to restore order despite several altercations that have escalated into tears.

9:04 a.m.

            Teachers begin employing students for event preparations. One boy wields a bush knife, deftly sharpening the stakes that are to be used to line the track. Another compact athlete in a bucket hat holds the stakes steady while Mone—one of the teachers turned officiate for the day—staples sheets of white paper to the sharpened stakes for makeshift flags.

9:33 a.m.

            All preparations complete, students and teachers alike continue to wait. Still not sure why though.

9:58 a.m.

            Teachers assign select Class 6 students the task of corralling all the younger kids into order. They comply by chasing them across the lawn swinging sticks and landing blows on exposed ankles, legs, and backs. The thrill of the chase rapidly vanishes as painful welts rise from the sharp whacks of the sticks.

10:17 a.m.

            As one big group, with clear divisions between red and green, the teachers lead the students to the open field across the main road. Class 6 students run off to deposit the flags in an oval-shaped formation covering the entire span of the field.

10:37 a.m.

            Parents begin to arrive, laden with buckets and bins of every size filled to maximum capacity with food: dozens of packages of cookies, loaves of peanut butter sandwiches, plates of fried chicken and assorted root crops, of mayo and corned beef pasta salads, of curry chicken and handfuls of plain hot dogs, and bowls of la’ipele moa. A recycled jug of vegetable oil accompanies each bin, filled with different varieties of Tang or other sugary drink mixes.

A row of vehicles in various degrees of functionality forms on the newly-trimmed lawn. The men begin setting up rusted poles, covering them with grey tarps to make tents, while the women lay out picnic supplies.

11:12 a.m. – Lotu Kamata/Lea Talitali (Opening Ceremony)

Heu, the Principal at Ha’atu’a G.P.S., stands up to lead everyone in prayer, then to make a speech officially commencing ‘Aho Sipoti mo e Fiefia 2015.

11:20 a.m. – Kamata Ngaahi ‘Iveni (Start of Events)

800 m – Class 6

            Class 6 girls and boys arrange themselves at the starting line alternating red and green. The girls are scheduled to go first, boys to follow immediately after. Mone raises his right arm in the air and calls out to the runners, “on your mark…get set…go!”

            The girls start out at a dead sprint. One of the girls in green separates herself from the pack by about 20 yards before even reaching three quarters of the way through the first lap.

            At what should be the 300 meter mark, but probably isn’t really because the course was just eye-balled, the girl in first place loses steam. She is passed by two girls on red and another on green. At the start of the second lap she slows, setting a pace just barely faster than a walk. The other girls behind and in front of her have slowed to a similar pace.

            The runners slow their pace further, alternating a dozen steps walking with a few desperate strides attempting a run. The four girls in front cross the finish line running at a roughly estimated 2 mph. Those behind drop out and drag their exhausted bodies from the course.

            The Class 6 boys start at a similar breakneck speed, but fare better through the end of the race, with only one or two boys falling off around the 700 meter mark.

Class 1 girls race to the finish line during the 30 meter dash.

30 m – Class 1

            Mone and Mata’anga arrange the first heat of Class 1 girls in their respective lanes at the starting line. After five minutes, the five runners settle into position, waiting for Mone to signal the start.

            Two consecutive false starts ensue.

            The third attempt is flawless, the runners taking off as fast as their legs can propel them forward. 

            The girl in lane two face-plants after she slips in the woodchips used to fill in a small crater in the grassy track. The parents in the audience erupt in laughter.

She scrambles back onto her feet and finishes the race, face strained with the effort of fighting back tears while simultaneously exerting all the strength she has in her.

50 m – Class 2 & 3

            The runners continue to slip and fall on the unpredictable and rugged course.

            The parents continue to screech with laughter and arousing cheers of encouragement.

75 m – Class 4 & 5; 100 m Class 6

            As the runners compete, the spectators from each of the teams on the sidelines engage in a Tongan cheer-off, flavored with spontaneous dance battles. Some of the parents join in zealously.

Green's supporters cheering on their team from the sideline.

Lele Faingata’a (The Obstacle Course) – Class 1-6

            Class 1-4 teachers, Ane, Mata’anga, Meleuini and Mone, converge to set up for the next event. They send several groups of students back to the school building to retrieve the obstacles for the next event: six wooden benches, and three multi-person desks from the classrooms. The older boys come back carrying the obstacles on their shoulders, and set them down in the middle of the track.

            The race begins with the runners sprinting from the starting line to a point about 30 yards away where the teachers placed an empty plastic water bottle and an unripe moli (Tongan orange) in each lane. Each student is supposed to pick up one of the objects, turn, and sprint back to the starting line. They repeat this, picking up the second object on the second down-and-back. On the third take-off from the starting line, they sprint to the next obstacle: two school benches stacked sideways on top of each other to form a small hurdle. The students have to jump over the hurdle, continue running forward, and then dive under one of the three wooden desks set up as the next obstacle. From there they regain their footing, and continue sprinting through the finish line.

The boys from Class 4-6 carrying in the benches and desks to set up the Lele Faingata'a.

On This Week’s Not Top 10

1)   Tevita, a kiniti (kindergarten) student—not even at the primary school yet—jumping in with one heat of the Class 2 races, and running off with the water bottle and moli.

2)   Toafa, a Class 3 boy, soaring over the hurdles then diving under the desk, only to smack his head straight into it in the process. The desk toppled over on top of his head and body. He fought free, leaped to his feet, and continued to the finish line.

1:15 p.m. – Kai Ho’atã (Lunch)

      Parents lay out plates and cups, unloading the buckets of food pre-made at home. The meal is communal style. Women prepare plates for their children and themselves, but also pass around helpings to other groups of women and children around them. Sugary drink mixes are poured into cups, chugged in just a few gulps, and then the cup is refilled and passed along to the next person. One woman, Mele, shoves a plate of fried chicken, boiled eggs and hot dogs onto me, to share with her toddler who has plopped himself down comfortably in my lap. When I’ve finished that plate, another woman invites me to join her circle and urges me to scoop handfuls from her macaroni corned beef salad, with chunks of hopa to wash it down. 

Meleuini, the Class 1 teacher, reps the green team while feasting at the lunch break.

The kids take about a 10-minute break to eat, then clamber to their feet and run back to the track to continue racing against their friends. Over the shared food, the moms talk, gossip and laugh about the various mishaps from the day’s events thus far.

2:00 p.m. – Lele Tangai (Sack Race) – Class 1-6

            At the starting line, the Class 1 girls climb into creased white sacks and position themselves behind the starting line. At Mone’s signal, they leap forward instantaneously. Of the five competitors in the race, only one stays on her feet, just barely, as the others crumble to the ground in various degrees of disarray, tangled up in the sacks. Somehow, they find their feet and continue to hop clumsily, falling again every couple of hops, until the finish line.

            One mom comes to her daughter’s aid in the race, scooping her up from the ground and attempting to hop with her, only to stumble over the sack herself and slam back to the ground on top of her daughter. She rushes to regain her footing, grabs her crying daughter up in her arms and thunders to the finish line. 

The leader of the Class 2 boys looks back at the others he's leaving in his duct.

            To the great disappointment of viewers, coordination increases with age as the Class 2-6 girls and boys follow suit. At the Finish line, brief but intense brawls break out as the older students fight for ownership of the sacks, at times savagely ripping them off the bodies of the younger ones.

Class 6 boys and girls rip the sacks away from the younger students at the finish line.

Fusi Maea (Tug-o-War)

            Students get dragged, trampled, smashed and shoved. The lines on each side, green and red, starting with 7 kids on each team, rapidly increase as students and parents alike rush to their team’s rescue. Bodies pile up one on top of another, young and old, in a jumble of flailing arms and legs.

400 m Relay – Class 4, 5 & 6

            Thinking himself clever, one boy running the third leg of the Class 5 400 meter relay lets the others get ahead of him, then he darts across the field cutting off more than half of the 400 meters. The crowd howls with laughter and cheers. A mom of one of the leading boys runs out to the track and tackles the cheater, trapping him in her arms until the other boys catch up, and then releases him. Each of the last runners holds back, wary of their cheating opponents, and makes the move to beat them to it, each cutting off the track at a point earlier than the others.

All hell breaks loose. Parents storm the field. Kids on the sidelines sprint to catch up, shouting at the runners to throw the stick to them so that they can finish transporting it past the finish line. The race ends in fits of indiscernible shouts and laughter.

3:00 p.m. – Fakamãlõ mo e Lotu (Thank You and Closing Prayers)

            Day of sports and happiness. Light on the sports. Heavy on the happiness.

Sports Day Highlight Reel: 

Ha'atu'a GPS Sports Day